


Hair Care

by EllieRose101



Series: Spuffy vs. 2020 [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/pseuds/EllieRose101
Summary: The concluding part of my ‘Spuffy vs 2020’ series.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Series: Spuffy vs. 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775368
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Hair Care

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the mullet I gave myself this morning.

One Shot

Oh, god, what had she done? Buffy was almost scared to look at the chaos she’d caused. But, after a moment or two and a series of deep breaths, she slowly opened her eyes and took it in.

The mess on the floor, where some of the bits she’d thrown had missed the trash can. The crack in the veneer of her dresser, where she’d slammed the scissors down too hard.

The awful sight in the mirror, staring back at her.

“Spike!”

“Yeah, pet?” He immediately appeared in the door of their bedroom, then paused, the smile on his face frozen in place, even as his eyes went wide. “Buffy?”

The tears that had been building suddenly burst out of Buffy’s throat. And then she was in Spike’s arms, held tight against his chest. “Buffy, what happened?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” she sobbed.

She felt him start to pet her hair in that soothing way he did, but then of course his hand stilled again. It was a mess. All a mess. What was she _thinking_?

“Pet,” said Spike, ever trying again. “Come on now, talk to me.”

“I… I just–” Buffy shook her head, not sure how to explain herself.

Spike changed tack, sitting her down on the edge of the bed as he busied himself picking up the remnants of her locks, tossing them in the trash, and then lifting the scissors. He settled himself on the bed behind her, his legs going either side of hers.

“W-what are you doing?” she said in a little hiccup, her tears subsiding as quickly as they’d come.

“Just tidying it a little,” said Spike, voice steady. Calm. “There are some uneven bits here, see?” Some of the longer bits wiggled in the mirror at Buffy, held by unseen hands, and she fought hard not to give into another sob.

“We can sort it,” said Spike. “Promise.”

Buffy closed her eyes and let him, confident he couldn’t make it worse.

“So,” he said conversationally after a minute, “you finally had enough of the hairdressers not being open.”

“Yes,” said Buffy. “Or no. Not–not just that.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, and continued snipping.

Buffy sighed. “William kept pulling on it,” she said. “Which was fine, at first. He’s a baby. Babies pull on stuff. I know it sounds stupid, but all of a sudden, I just couldn’t take it anymore. The pulling, and how it was always in the way, and–”

“The lack of control,” said Spike.

“Huh?” Buffy opened her eyes and went to turn around, so she could look at him while they spoke, but he held her still.

“Almost done, love. One more minute.”

She snuck a glance back in the mirror and was surprised to see it did actually look better. Less choppy, and more kind of… was smooth the right word?

“It’s been a hell of a year,” said Spike. “Was bound to get to you eventually.”

Buffy frowned, knowing he was right, but failing to see the connection between the global disaster 2020 had been and her sudden and apparent need to hack off her hair.

“I’m nuts, right,” said Buffy. “That’s what you’re saying. I snapped.”

“You’re not nuts,” said Spike, and she could hear a smirk in his voice. “I know nuts. You don’t have to be cuckoo to do something a bit drastic.”

“But I was fine,” she said, hating the whine that had entered her voice. “I _am_ fine. I could have waited another couple of months to get it done properly.”

“Yeah,” said Spike, “except it ain’t about that.”

She sighed again. “Okay, explain your control theory.”

She felt him shrug behind her. “Simple enough. World’s still out of whack, and your body’s mostly been commandeered by a newborn, all aspects of it subject to his whims. Makes sense you’d want something that was just for you.”

Buffy looked again at her once-lovely hair lining the bottom of the trash can. “I don’t think this is the way to get it.”

“Maybe not,” said Spike, “but there are worse ways.” He chuckled low in his throat. “We may have found a few of them, in years past.”

Just like that, her mind flashed back to her personal hell year. Which was to say, that first year adjusting to having been ripped from heaven. She’d tried to cut her own hair then, too.

“God, have I not learned anything?”

“Sure you have,” said Spike, turning her head slightly so he could do something at the side. Match it to the length at the back, or whatever. “We’re here together now, aren’t we?”

That was certainly true. If she’d told her past self she’d end up married to Spike and mother of his child, she wouldn’t have believed it.

“Listen,” he went on, “I know Christmas was rough. Not getting to see anyone not at the end of a broadband connection. It’s understandable you’d be pissed, and follows that you’d take it out on yourself. What else have you got to put all your aggression into?”

Buffy closed her eyes again, flashes of other memories from that year coming back to her. Because the answer was him. She put it all on him. But she’d stopped that. Proof that things really could get better.

“There,” said Spike, kissing the top of her head. “All done.”

They got up and he handed her the scissors as she stepped closer to the mirror for a full inspection.

“Huh,” said Buffy, running her fingers through the newly softened ends. “I kinda like it.”

She turned to face Spike and saw him grinning at her.

“What?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just love you, is all.”

Despite herself, Buffy smiled. “Thank you,” she told Spike, “for the hair savage. I love you, too.”

“All that matters,” said Spike, leaning in to kiss her. Breathless, like the old days.

His long fingers wound their way through her brand-new pixie cut and gently rubbed her scalp. The sensation made Buffy groan a little. She’d been tempted to suggest Spike go into hairdressing, because he had serious skills. Or massage. Maybe train as a counsellor, because clearly he was good at that, too. But, really, she wanted to keep those things for herself.

As Spike and Buffy held each other close, their baby sleeping soundly in the next room, they heard chimes sound from the bell tower of the nearby church.

“Happy New Year, pet.”


End file.
